


Yet What I Can I Give Him

by edenbound



Series: shanaqui's Comfortember Fics [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Crowley rescues Aziraphale, as always, whether it be the Bastille, German spies, or a wintery night and a gang of kids with snowballs. That's how this works.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: shanaqui's Comfortember Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015975
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Yet What I Can I Give Him

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I saw this list of prompts for Comfortember [on Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/1863572). We're halfway through, so this will require two fics a day if I want to do them all... but ehh, let's have a go. This is for prompt #1, "rescue".
> 
> It's tagged M/M, but you could also read it as gen, I guess.
> 
> I tried to work the date into the fic somehow, but I needed a cold winter. That located this in 1977-1979 somewhere, according to my [totally super precise source](https://www.netweather.tv/weather-forecasts/uk/winter/winter-history), and the best thing I could think of was politics. Given the general election that's closest to that time, I really didn't want to touch it for a comfort fic, so...

[London, January 1978]

"Goodness, you do make a habit of rescuing me, don't you? It's really very kind of you," Aziraphale says, curling his hands around the warm mug of cocoa. He is fairly sure that neither the mug -- delightfully kitsch, if your name is Aziraphale, and a disgrace to the name of a demon, if your name is Crowley -- nor the cocoa actually existed inside Crowley's flat before this moment. He peeks over the top of the mug as he takes a sip, trying to take everything in without appearing to do so: the sparse and probably fashionable flat, dark and quiet, smelling a little of dust and nothing else. Outside the quasi-dark of London at night is smeared grey with snow, still falling in slow drifts.

"Don't call me that," Crowley says, but absently, absorbed in flipping through a stack of records.

"Well, really. I would have been just fine walking home. It was only that, well -- "

"It was only that a bunch of horrible little brats thought it would be funny to follow you through the street pelting you with snowballs, yes." Crowley makes an 'aha' noise, slides a record out, and puts it on. There's a brief blurt of noise before he twiddles a knob and turns it down. "They won't do that again in a hurry. It was a pleasure to remind them of where they're going."

"They're only children, Crowley!"

Crowley slides a glance at him from behind his sunglasses. "They're children who saw a person alone, bit late at night, walking through the streets. A totally harmless person. And then decided to pelt him with snowballs until he could barely stand. When that entertainment palled, they started picking up pieces of ice, some of them really sharp. Real little _angels_."

Aziraphale looks down at the mug. "It's not as if it would actually harm me."

"They couldn't know that." Crowley frowns and then snaps his fingers. "Right. Forgot."

Aziraphale is about to ask what he forgot, but the marshmallows suddenly bobbing in his cocoa answer that question on their own. He smiles, endlessly fond, his heart feeling rather too warm and too large to be contained in a human chest. "Crowley, you're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"I just... hope those children are not going to hell _solely_ based on a bit of juvenile high spirits."

"They could've hurt you, angel."

"Nonetheless," Aziraphale says, as firmly as he can. "It was a very unpleasant experience, and I'm very glad you gave them a bit of a fright. Maybe they'll think better of it next time. They've got ample time to reconsider their ways." He looks up to meet those yellow eyes, and smiles at him.

"That's up to them, isn't it?" Crowley looks away first, and Aziraphale knows he's won. "Drink your cocoa, angel."

It _is_ very good cocoa, rich and smooth. And Aziraphale is feeling rather a fondness for this mug. In fact -- why not? He'll take it home with him. It's a very good cocoa mug, and it doesn't suit Crowley at all, not with that angel-wing handle. He's sure Crowley won't mind -- and inappropriate or not, he won't be able to help thinking of Crowley when he uses it, but that's a secret he'll keep especially close to his heart, where it's safe.


End file.
